


Trust That Everything Will Work Out

by Telaryn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Confessions, Dinner, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear, Introspection, Kitchen Sex, Love, Missionary Position, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Issues, Self-Doubt, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With tensions still high between them following Clint's return home, Laura arranges a date night in hopes that they can find their way back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust That Everything Will Work Out

**Author's Note:**

> You could say this is a sequel to "The Only Wounds That Fester" - in fact, given how much fun I'm having writing these two, I'm likely to bind everything up in a series at some point.
> 
> What you need to know is that this takes place after Avengers #1. Clint has only been home for a few days since the Battle of New York, and on top of still dealing with what Loki did to him, he has to contend with the seeds of discord and doubt the Asgardian has managed to sow in his home and family.

“Table’s done.” Clint announced, setting the last fork in its proper place. Table settings had been one of those things Coulson had to teach him when he joined SHIELD. It hadn’t occurred to anyone – least of all Clint – that setting a decent, if not formal, table wasn’t exactly one of those skills you were born with. Turns out it _was_ one of those talents that occasionally became useful on undercover operations and Clint had dutifully memorized every utensil, its proper position, and the so-called ‘logic’ behind the rules.

 _No…_ his hind brain whimpered. Even in the dim light he could see that his hand was shaking. What he didn’t know was what had started it: thinking about Coulson, the whole ‘date night’ thing Laura had arranged for them, or some other more deeply buried bit of damage that was finally clawing its way to the surface?

Finally he clenched the offending hand into a fist. _”Tremors are a common symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder,”_ his shrink at HQ had said during his last assessment, apparently not realizing how terrifying an idea that was to lay at the feet of a sniper.

“We’re about ready over here,” Laura said suddenly, and Clint couldn’t help flinching at the unexpected sound of her voice. _Fuck._

His silent prayer that she hadn’t seen died two words in as he felt a gentle hand on his arm and the cold, damp edge of a bottle brush against his skin. “Hey,” she said softly, drawing his attention, “no pressure, remember?”

Swallowing down the sudden surge of self-loathing that threatened to choke him – he’d wanted so much for this evening to be perfect – Clint nevertheless nodded, accepting the beer she nudged into his grip. “Can you tell me what you need?” Laura asked, her eyes full of all the concern he knew he didn’t deserve.

“To not be me for a night?” he asked, cringing inwardly at the level of bitterness that had suddenly leaked into the words. “Clint Barton, Human Disaster?”

It was so easy for people to dismiss Laura. Oh sure, they gave lip service to the fact that raising two kids essentially on her own and running a farm that was more than some rich couple’s vanity project was hard work, but Laura herself moved through the world leaving barely a ripple in her wake. It was only moments like this when you were forced to recognize that all of her softness and easy going manner wrapped a core of pure steel, that you understood how very much more there was to this woman.

“Stop,” she said firmly, lightly fisting one hand in the fabric of his dress shirt. “Look at me, Clint,” she added as he started to drop his gaze; ashamed of his thoughts and the discordant note he’d dropped into their special night. _I didn’t mean it._

Bracing himself for a lecture and all the supportive comments she would feel obligated to make and he wouldn’t be able to believe, Clint was surprised again when all she said was, “I need about ten minutes to put the salad together. Go outside, get some air.”  
*****************************  
 _”You need to stop waiting for her to end it.”_ Clint hadn’t told Laura he was having lunch with Natasha, but after three days at home waiting for the final shoe to drop he’d been ready to climb out of his skin. _”Remember we never counted on her knowing about Loki – if she was going to kick you out for that, she never would have let you near the children.”_

In those darker moments when he’d been able to be truthful with himself, Clint knew he was trying to put the decision about his future off on his wife because it was easier than admitting he wasn’t ready to do the smart thing and leave on his own.

 _”Can you tell me what you need?”_

Twisting the top off the beer Laura had given him, Clint took a long swallow of the cold liquid. Coming so hard on the heels of his panic from thinking about Coulson, he hadn’t given the question the consideration it deserved. He hadn’t exactly lied when he said he wanted to be someone else, but maybe this had to be less about what he wanted and more about what he needed.

But what was that? Clint nursed his beer and for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, really thought about the answer. It wasn’t easy, but when it finally came to him he felt the shift deep in his gut. He needed to forget. _Just for a night._ So much of his world had narrowed down to what happened to him and what it meant and who it affected and how, that somewhere in all that chaotic mess he’d lost the ability to just appreciate everything he still had.  
***********************************  
Sixteen years ago Laura Elizabeth Morgan had been a graduate student at Cornell University, majoring in Agricultural Studies. Clint had just been passing through Ithaca – considerably less of a waste of time than he’d been even a year earlier – but not enough to keep the pretty girl cramming for her finals from telling him to “keep walking, soldier”.

Not one to push himself where he clearly wasn’t wanted, Clint had. Which – Laura would later tell him – was why when she’d caught sight of him on the street a week later, she’d come up to him and apologized. Looking into her eyes then, as she explained her situation and the reason for her dismissive attitude, he’d forgotten for a moment how to breathe.

Marriage, two kids, and a lifetime of weirdness later, Clint felt that same tightening in his chest as he returned to the kitchen and she turned to acknowledge him. “Better?” she asked.

_There comes a point where all the ‘what ifs’ in the world just cease to matter. There comes a point where you have to let go all your doubts and fears, make your leap, and trust that everything is going to come out all right._

Dropping his guard for the first time in months, Clint let her see how much he loved her, how much he wanted to be worthy of her, and on a much more primal level, how much he _wanted_ her. In the dim light of the kitchen he saw her eyes widen slightly, saw the slight hesitation in the rise and fall of her chest, and then heard her say with an edge of amusement in her voice, “Okay, then.”

He didn’t remember closing the distance that separated them. In one second he was drowning in how much he loved this woman; the next he was gathering Laura into his arms and the two of them were kissing with all the passion he’d been afraid to let himself feel since coming home.

“Is anything going to burn?” he murmured, putting his mouth close to her ear as his hands skimmed the neckline of her dress, grazing the curve of her breasts before roaming lower.

“You mean besides us?” she laughed, twining her arms around his neck as he kissed the point where her neck and shoulder joined. “No, we’re good.”

His fingers curled around the hem of her dress, drawing the fabric upwards. “Good,” he said, kissing his way down her chest as he slowly lowered himself to his knees. “You might want to grab onto something.”

Her panties were purple silk and lace – his favorite pair. Clint bit his bottom lip, feeling his cock stiffen in his jeans as he hooked calloused fingers over the waistband and slowly slid them over the swell of her hips and down her thighs. She was barefoot; he ran a thumb across each arch as he helped her step out of the lingerie, digging expertly into the muscle. “Yes, please,” she whimpered, the sound vibrating deep in his bones.

“Later,” he promised, returning his attention to her thighs – gently urging her legs apart. “I’m on a mission here.” She was already wet for him; the discovery was nearly his undoing. Clint leaned in and licked a long, slow line across her skin, ending with a trace of her clit that made her shiver and gasp above him. “You’re amazing,” Laura breathed, threading her fingers into his hair.

Smiling, Clint leaned into her touch. “Inspired,” he countered, taking her hips in his hands and tugging her in close. Laura braced herself against the counter with her free hand, sighing with pleasure as she gave herself over to her husband’s attention. Clint responded by taking his time with her, using all of his senses to catalogue every sound she made, every shift of her body, even the way the taste of her changed as her pleasure deepened and she drew closer to orgasm.

“Oh – oh yes, right there,” she moaned softly; the hand cupping the back of his head tightening briefly as she instinctively pulled him in against her. Clint immediately narrowed his focus, putting all his energy and talent onto that one spot, until Laura’s body shuddered violently underneath his hands. Sliding his tongue as far inside her as he could, Clint closed his eyes – savoring the feel, taste and scent of her as her cries became louder and less articulate, finally bleeding into one long, keening cry as she came.

Clint steadied her – urging pleasure on her until he sensed her peak, then leveling out her fall as she tumbled back into awareness of the world around her.

“Forgot you were a screamer,” he smirked, sitting back on his heels and grinning up at her once he was certain she could support herself again. Cupping his face in her hands, Laura leaned down and kissed him breathless.

“I forgot your fingers weren’t the most talented part of your body,” she said, giving him a scorching look that was full of sin and promise. “That tongue of yours could teach lesbians a thing or two.”

He laughed then, kissing her once more before pushing to his feet – sweeping up her discarded panties as he rose and slipping them into his pocket. “I’ll take the beans,” he said, reaching for the bowl she’d prepared in such a way that he had to crowd her against the counter again. Reaching down, Laura cupped his erection in her palm. Clint inhaled sharply at the contact, eyes going wide as he met her gaze.

“Or we could forget about the food,” she suggested, leaving him the option.

Openly trembling now for a much more positive reason than before, Clint seriously considered her offer. Thoughts of everything they could do to each other just between the counter and the table filled his mind, but he finally whimpered, shaking his head. “You’ve been cooking all afternoon. Just smelling those pork chops is doing obscene things to my stomach.”

Laura waited a beat, then released him. “Your call,” she said finally. “Just remember while we eat that the thought of having you naked and underneath me is doing obscene things to my brain.”  
***************************************  
It was like the best high she’d ever experienced in her life – all of the buzz and none of the side effects. _We’ve been so careful with each other._ she thought as they finished taking the different dishes to the table. Clint jumping her in the kitchen like he had was the first thing he’d done since coming home that she could point to and say ‘there’s my husband’.

His rough, calloused hand caught hers just as she was about to sit down. “I love you,” he said softly, his eyes so full of emotion that for a second her own vision blurred with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Pulling him down to her, Laura kissed him. “Same,” she said, burying her head for a moment against his chest and breathing in his scent.

Once they were seated, they lost several minutes to filling their plates. Laura _had_ been cooking all afternoon, and Clint’s appreciation of her skills had always been a safe spot in their relationship.

“I answered you badly before,” Clint said after several moments of them just enjoying their food and the balance they seemed to have found again with each other. His eyes met hers, and Laura knew that he was telling her something important. “When I said I didn’t want to be me tonight, what I was really trying to say is that I don’t want tonight to be about everything that happened to me.”

Laura set down her fork. “Okay,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to push you – I hope you know that?” She cursed inwardly, feeling the familiar tension creeping back in, but Clint was finally trying to open up to her. Laura knew that she wouldn’t have done anything to stop that for all the orgasms in the world.

He nodded. “Just like I wasn’t planning on setting the table triggering a flashback,” he said, and Laura almost hurt herself swallowing down her questions about the particulars of _that_. “I want tonight to be about us. I want to hear everything that’s been going on with the place, how the corn came in, when you think Pink Kitty’s going to have her foal…” Laura snorted softly; it was one of the great truths of her life that she was never going to be able to hear the nickname Lila had given their mare without laughing.

His own grin making his face handsome and real, Clint reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “I want to be Mr. Laura Barton for a night,” he said. “And when we’re done here, I want to take you upstairs to our bedroom and make love to you until dawn.”

Still smiling, Laura raised her glass. “I will drink to that.”

Boundaries established at last, conversation flowed smoothly between them after that. Clint was concerned when she told him about Lila’s issues with school and Cooper’s growing need to torment his sister – promising to spend as much one on one time with the children as it took to convince them their world hadn’t changed. “Fury didn’t put an end date on my leave,” Clint said finally, “but after a mess like New York I have to figure ninety days before he even gets to me on his to do list.”

“What about after that?” Laura asked, feeling a flutter of nerves as they edged out of their comfort zone. “How much of this are they going to hold you responsible for?”

Clint licked his lips, too much of the wrong kinds of emotion suddenly in his eyes. “Cap and Nat are both sure that I’ll get a pass, under the circumstances. Stark’s been…well, Stark about the whole mess.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I just don’t know.”

Pulling back, Laura reset her mental and emotional balance. “Well ninety days means you’ll be here to help get the corn in. That’s something, at least.” She grinned, letting a hint of mischief slip into her smile. “And if you really want to show me how happy you are to be home, you could agree to help me when Arrow foals.”

The jibe was deliberate – Clint could execute a mark and not lose a wink of sleep, but he had been deeply grossed out when their mare had given birth to Cooper’s colt. Now though, he smiled. “I think I can do that.” He paused. “You think Lila’ll name the foal Pink Kitty Junior?”

Laura shook her head. “Spider. Colt or filly – it’s going to be Spider, for Auntie Nat.”

Clint had just put the last piece of his pork chop in his mouth, and promptly choked on it. “Wow – Nat’s going to love that,” he said, once he could breathe again. “Spider, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”  
********************************  
The images of what she wanted to do to her husband were pressing so hard on Laura’s self-control by the time they finished eating that she very nearly went to her knees in front of Clint right at the table. He’d been clear about wanting to continue their evening upstairs, however, so she pressed her thighs together and held her tongue until he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

“I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight,” he said, his pupils blown wide with lust as he threaded his fingers into her hair and leaned in for a long, slow, deep kiss that set her skin tingling with warmth.

Laura met his gaze squarely as their lips parted. “Shut up and fuck me, Mr. Barton.”

A single raised eyebrow was the only warning she got, before he lunged and swept her up in his arms. “You asked for it,” he said, as she hooked her arms around the back of his neck and held on. Years of training, both military and circus, meant that Clint moved more smoothly and gracefully than just about anyone Laura had ever met. Still, she supposed that after a certain age nobody could take stairs like they had and make it look exactly like they did in the movies.

At least that was why she told herself she’d only managed to get one of his shirt buttons unfastened by the time he carried her into their bedroom. “See, this is the difference between us,’ she said, wobbling a little as he set her on her feet. “I dressed for access. You dressed to look good.”

Clint raised his eyebrows, but otherwise made no move as she tried to refocus on his shirt front. “Please tell me I remembered to thank you for that.”

“Oh, we’re square,” Laura reassured him as she managed two more of his buttons before fisting both hands in his shirt front again and pressing her forehead against his chest. “I was so much smoother when I played this out in my head.” She sighed then, feeling her shoulders slump. “I think I was taller too.”

“Hey.” When she looked up, he immediately ducked his head and kissed her – drawing out a moan of desire from low in her throat. As Laura melted into his touch, he took her hands from his shirt and moved them to his belt buckle. Following his lead, she managed to undo his jeans and push everything over his hips and halfway down his thighs. He hissed as she lightly brushed against his erection with the back of one hand.

“I don’t need smooth,” he said, cupping her cheek with one hand and forcing eye contact. “I need this. You and me, here and now, and seeing that you want this as much as I do.” He kissed her again and she felt him breathe in her scent. “Just this.” Taking her wrists lightly in his hands, he walked her backwards until her legs hit the edge of the bed.

Dropping them for a second, he reached for the hem of her dress. Laura took advantage of the opportunity to push his jeans and underwear down far enough for gravity to take over. Once her dress was off, Clint kicked his own clothes to one side – pulling his dress shirt off over his head and adding it to the pile. “Missed you so much,” he said, kissing the tops of her breasts while he reached around behind her to undo her bra.

They ended up on the bed together; Clint put her on her back against the pillows, her legs on either side of him. His hands caressed her skin, fingers circling and teasing at her nipples before dropping lower; skimming across the plane of her stomach to rest on her thighs. The world went still between them for just a moment, and Laura felt her eyes blur momentarily with tears as she saw herself the way Clint knew her. Then he was leaning over her, kissing her gently and thoroughly, while she wrapped her own fingers lightly around his cock and guided him up and inside her.

True to his word, Clint’s first handful of thrusts were slow and firm. Laura rose to meet him each time, and together they shifted and adjusted until they found a rhythm they both liked. He felt thick and full and perfect inside her, and tears spilled from her eyes at last as she finally let herself feel how much she had missed him. All the fears about what had happened and what it might mean for their future fell away in the moment, leaving only them and how much they needed each other.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” His breath was hot against her ear, and she nodded shakily. “I thought so.” He shifted, slipping his left hand between them. The rhythm faltered only for a beat as his thumb sought out her clit. Laura cried out, arching up into him as her orgasm crashed over her; her vision going white for a moment as she held onto him with every bit of strength she had left.

Clint followed her by only a few thrusts, his breathing harsh, his body shuddering as he came. He whimpered as another, smaller orgasm caught Laura off guard, causing her to tighten around his over-sensitized cock. “Sorry,” she managed, half-laughing at his reaction, half-whimpering herself.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, sliding himself free of her with another hiss that she suspected was pleasure bordering on pain. His collapse onto the mattress beside her was one of the least graceful things she’d ever seen him do, and Laura couldn’t stop a small flash of satisfaction on seeing what he had been reduced to.

“Probably,” she agreed, moving into his embrace as he settled onto his back. “You need a towel?” She started to push herself up, but he frowned and pulled her back against his side. With his free hand, he urged her head back down on his shoulder.

“Eventually,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Next time you’re on top.”


End file.
